


By Any Other Name

by Octinary



Series: Love is Stupid [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Families of Choice, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Love Confessions, M/M, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octinary/pseuds/Octinary
Summary: “This is Jaskier.”  Geralt clapped a hand affectionately on his shoulder.  “My friend.”The thing is it isn’t untrue.  Not only is it not untrue, it’s an introduction Jaskier would have killed for years ago.  But the other thing is that they are sleeping together quite regularly now (and talking about it afterwards even, which considering the witcher’s temperment is quite a big deal for Jaskier thank you very much) and Geralt was the one who had specifically suggested this winter visit to Kaer Morhen to meet the closest thing to a family he has, so why is that the word he chose to describe their relationship?  And what does Jaskier have to do to get him to change it?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Love is Stupid [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852516
Comments: 74
Kudos: 590





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick warning for anyone who really doesn't like feeling vicarious or secondhand embarrassment, Jaskier sort of makes a fool of himself in this. If it helps to ease your mind, it all turns out okay in the end. :) Take care of you.

It wasn’t actually as hard to get to Kaer Morhen as Jaskier had imagined it would be. With the little he’d managed to weasel out of Geralt over the years of their acquaintance he’d constructed a rather fantastic and tragic image of the old witcher school in his mind, with winding precipitous passes into the mountains and dramatic thunderstorms plaguing the journey. In truth, the pass towards the keep was well disguised and easy to miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but the journey itself was actually quite pleasant and uneventful. After the frost that had prompted Geralt’s decision to end his wandering for the year and head for home, the weather had actually perked up, stayed unseasonably sunny and was frankly downright accommodating to travel. A mere half-day from their goal and they hadn’t even run into any monsters or hostile wildlife. It seemed serendipitous. When Jaskier had mentioned that to Geralt that morning, trying to poetically allude to how much easier the witcher’s Path was now that the bard was a permanent fixture on it, Geralt had instead opined that Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert had already cleared the trail on their way up to the fortress and they were just arriving last. The man did not have an ounce of romance in his soul. And then he’d advised Jaskier not to let his guard down or wander into the caves near the keep since there was an ancient cyclops that lived there and Jaskier was still unsure whether that had been his attempt at a jest or not. To be honest he was more intimidated by the mention of the other witchers than he was of the monster; he’d seen Geralt kill a cyclops whereas the other witchers were almost a complete mystery. He knew less about Geralt’s so-called brothers than he did Kaer Morhen itself, which was actually the impetus for this visit.

He’d known about Geralt’s wintering habits for almost as long as he’d known the witcher. In fact, the first autumn they had parted after spending a significant portion of the summer together, Geralt had mentioned going home for the off-season. Jaskier had been glad to hear it; the weather had been turning bad and camping outside was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He’d been beginning to contemplate retreating to Oxenfurt for the winter himself when he’d had a sudden, sad vision of Geralt out in the miserable weather alone, shunned out of the better sort of inn that Jaskier’s music got them access to and bereft of work as the populace was holed up at home instead of going out and getting themselves helpfully murdered in the wilderness, all while he was safely tucked away at school, warm, well-fed and content. How could he possibly have faced Geralt in the spring knowing that? He was, if you’ll excuse the pun, no fair weather friend. He would have stayed. I mean, obviously he was ecstatic that he didn’t have to suffer through a winter on the road, but he wanted it on the record that he totally would have stayed. Probably.

But this year when the weather had turned cold and Jaskier had started slipping into Geralt’s sleeping roll for reasons which had nothing to do with sex, the inevitable conversation about ending the season had gone differently. Geralt had let Jaskier settle against his side, one of his arms wrapped around him and the other cocooning the bard’s freezing fingers. He’d waited for Jaskier to stop shivering before declaring, “This is the last contract before winter.”

“Off to Kaer Morhen after this then?” Jaskier had sighed dramatically. He hated parting, especially since the evolution of their arrangement from occasional sex to bonafide relationship status, but he hated freezing too. “And I suppose I’m back to Oxenfurt since no one else seems to want me this winter.”

He’d been lamenting his own lack of work, not looking for sympathy, and so was entirely unprepared for Geralt’s quiet admission. “I want you. You could come with me.”

Jaskier had jerked upright, wanting to be able to see Geralt’s face for this conversation more than he wanted his body heat. “That’s very lovely to hear and I unequivocally want you too, but you don’t have to break years of witcher tradition for me just because I didn’t manage to finagle my way into an appointment for the winter. My ego is bruised and I do miss you terribly when you’re gone, but otherwise I will survive.”

“It’s no tradition or anything. We don’t even all return every year. And we’ve all brought guests before.” Geralt had very pointedly continued to stare at the stars above them and not made eye contact: always a sure sign that he was embarrassed. “I just thought, since you don’t have anywhere else you need to be, you could meet them.”

Well, how was he supposed to say no to that?

So now here he was, most of the way up a mountain on an unreasonably beautiful day in early winter with his monstrously taciturn boyfriend and experiencing an acute attack of performance anxiety for the first time in years. Jaskier was good with people, he had to be good with people to succeed in his chosen profession, but in this one aspect he was willing to drop his normal ‘witchers are people too’ mantra and admit that his vaunted people skills might not count for much here. It had taken him years to wear down Geralt’s formidable walls and he only had a few short months with Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. And that was only if they didn’t lose patience with him and throw him out before spring.

He felt Geralt tentatively take his hand. Despite the months they had been together romantically and the years they had been together companionably, he was still somewhat hesitant in initiating intimate contact. He’d probably decided to risk it after sniffing out Jaskier’s blatantly apparent nerves though. He could be adorably brave like that sometimes. “I didn’t mean to scare you with the cyclops story.”

Jaskier smirked, pleased with Geralt’s concern even if it was for the wrong reason. “So it was just a bad joke then?”

“Oh no. It’s true. He’s called Old Speartip. Killed one of Lambert’s cohort, a boy he was close to, so maybe don’t bring it up around him. But no one’s going to send you up to the Circle of Elements. You’ll be fine.”

And that right there was the entire problem with dealing with anything from Geralt’s past. It was a veritable minefield of utterly horrific tragedy that he casually treated as commonplace. In that moment, Jaskier knew that he was inevitably going to mess up and say something offensive to his hibernal hosts. It was like the Butcher of Blaviken comment that had got him decked by Geralt at their first meeting only times three and with the added humiliation of disappointing the love of his life. Or he could try to actually keep quiet and mind his own business all winter. Yeah, right. He figured he would have better odds with the cyclops.

*

“Wolf!” They were accosted as soon as they crossed the rickety wooden bridge and entered the lower courtyard of the fortress by a witcher with a horrifically scarred face who enveloped Geralt in a bear hug. Which Geralt enthusiastically returned. Which, okay, Geralt does hug (sometimes even unprompted), but the ease of the casual contact still rubbed Jaskier the wrong way. Also unimpressed with this unnecessary display of affection, Roach headed for the nearby manger where several other horses were already gathered. Given the general murmurings from the small herd gathered there, what was currently on offer was not impressive.

“Eskel!” Geralt even thumped the other witcher on the back for good measure before they broke apart so he could collect the wayward Roach and lead her away to be unloaded. Jaskier followed along mutely, feeling somewhat out of place and more than a little superfluous. Handing Eskel the heavily loaded saddlebags, Geralt nodded to the other gathered horses. “Everyone already here?” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “Shows a considerable lack of work ethic, everyone turning in that early.”

“Given the date, I’d say it’s not so much that we’re early as you’re late, but it seems like the weather waited for you. Always were damned lucky.” He punched Geralt playfully in the upper arm. Or, given their respective strengths, likely nudged Geralt playfully in the upper arm. It would have knocked Jaskier off his feet.

It didn’t even faze Geralt as he began to untack Roach. “Did you actually come down here for something or do we just smell that bad that you sensed us arriving and felt the need to interfere?”

And now Geralt was making jokes? Bad jokes even. But Eskel obligingly laughed. “To feed the menagerie,” he gestured to the other horses, assorted chickens and one singular goat that apparently had free rein of the courtyard. Accidentally, his gesture had encompassed Jaskier as well, since the bard had naturally gravitated away from the witchers’ rough-housing and towards the relative safety of the animals, where he was still standing uselessly holding his pack and wondering idly if his boyfriend could have somehow been replaced by a doppler sometime between lunch and now without him having noticed. “But if you take care of feeding the beasts when you’re done with Roach, I’ll see if I can’t scrounge up a bath and something to eat. It’s a bit late, but we haven’t had dinner yet.”

“It would be much appreciated. Thanks.” Possibly fake Geralt smiled warmly at Eskel. But surely Roach would be able to tell the difference between her master and an impostor and she was standing there placidly letting herself be brushed.

The other witcher clapped Geralt on the shoulder and turned to leave. As he passed by Jaskier he did bob his head and say “Greetings,” but given the bard’s mood it was too little, too late. Actually surprised at being acknowledged, he had only managed an awkward “Hi,” in return before Eskel was gone.

“There.” Geralt finished brushing Roach and dusted off his hands before looking at Jaskier. “You do the chickens, I’ll get the horses and goat?”

Jaskier threw a pail at him. It wasn’t a terribly effective weapon, but it was the closest thing to hand he felt confident throwing.

Geralt, annoyingly, dodged easily and raised a brow in confusion. “What was that for?”

“Thanks for the introduction!” It wasn’t really what he was angry about, but even Jaskier knew that it was stupid and unkind to be mad that Geralt was acting more open and friendly here than Jaskier had ever seen him before. Everyone acted differently around their family, some for the better, some for the worse, and it was an unquestionably good thing that Geralt was clearly comfortable with his. And it did not look good on Jaskier that his reaction to this fact was jealousy, both for the enviable bond the witchers clearly shared when he himself was not on speaking terms with his own family, and for seeing the casual familiarity from Geralt that Jaskier had had to work so hard for and treasured each incremental increase in being showered without restraint on someone else. Knowing that he shouldn’t be upset about this, annoyingly aware that it was undoubtedly fueled by his own fear of being found inadequate, but upset none-the-less, Jaskier clung obstinately to the one thing he could actually be incensed about without feeling like a horrible human being.

Geralt looked like he was about to say, ‘What?’ again, but thought better of it after taking stock of Jaskier’s demeanor. If there was one thing you could say about the man, he did have a very highly tuned survival instinct when he was paying attention. Instead he walked over and enveloped Jaskier in his arms. And hey! Unprompted hug! Maybe Geralt was just uniformly more affectionate at home and this would work out really well for Jaskier. Feeling warm and safe for the first time since the keep had come into view, he pleasantly envisioned snuggling all day while reading or talking to the other witchers or playing cards, all without the usual omnipresent fear of Geralt’s work or reputation interrupting them. He imagined seeing his witcher relaxed and content for weeks at a time, instead of the few scattered moments they usually managed to steal. It would be ideal, if only Jaskier could tamp down the niggling voice that suggested Geralt would be just as happy here without him.

Geralt pressed his lips to the top of Jaskier’s head and murmured softly into his hair, “Sorry. I’m sure he knows who you are, but I should have remembered these things matter to you. I’ll introduce you inside.”

Since they had decided to have (well, Jaskier had finally forced) an actual conversation about their occasional fucking and determined they were both interested in seeing if it could be something more, Geralt had gotten frustratingly good at making it impossible for Jaskier to stay angry with him. The bard huffed into his lover’s chest, feeling some of the tension he was stubbornly nursing evaporate. “Fine. I’ll feed the fowl.”

Geralt smiled and kissed him quickly and by the time they were finished and headed up through the other courtyards into the keep proper, Jaskier was actually feeling pretty good. A great deal of the ancient fortress looked to be in ruins, including sections of the main building, but it still loomed formidably out of the mountain it was carved into, roots deep and strong despite the hard times. There was a definite sense that it had been there long before Jaskier was born and would resolutely continue to stand for centuries after he was gone. It made him feel like writing grandiose, sprawling epics. Hopefully he could get some good writing done this winter with that kind of inspiration just hanging around, oozing out of every cracked stone and tumbled parapet.

Inside though Kaer Morhen lost some of its intimidating stature. For one thing, the entry hall, which was his first impression of the interior, contained a number of troughs and coops that seemed to strongly imply the big bad witchers let their livestock come in during the worst of the winter weather. Past that, the large open main hall, with its arched buttresses and faded murals, may have once been grand and imposing, but had since been converted into a general, and somewhat cluttered, all-purpose space. In the dim evening light Jaskier could make out rows of bookshelves, desks and what looked like alchemy equipment in front of him, taking up most of the centre of the room, and a small armory and training area off to his left. Geralt led him to the right however, where there was a large fire burning in an immense hearth and something smelled delicious. Eskel and another witcher around his age, probably Lambert, were playing cards at a long dining table while an older witcher, by process of elimination Vesemir, was seated closer to the fire reading. It was painfully, idyllically domestic and almost exactly what he had daydreamed in the courtyard outside. It made Jaskier grin. All three looked up as they walked over.

“Wolf.” The older witcher was pleased to see them, or Geralt at least, and nodded a greeting. “Welcome back.”

“Geralt. Took you fucking long enough.” Lambert smirked, but turned quickly back to his cards. Maybe not the most auspicious greeting, but he appeared to be winning, so his enthusiasm for the game could be forgiven.

Eskel tried a polite smile, somewhat stunted by the extensive scarring, but ultimately as friendly as he had been before. Nerves somewhat soothed, Jaskier could appreciate his efforts more now. “Bath’s in the kitchen. Don’t ‘Hmm’ me; this is the only fire going right now so it was either that or cold water.” He gestured through the fire and now that Jaskier was looking more closely, he could see that the hearth was actually two-sided and opened onto another room behind. “Be quick, we’re all hungry.”

“Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel. This is Jaskier.” Geralt rested a hand companionably on his shoulder and Jaskier felt warm and smiled brightly. This was going to be fine. These were good people. There had been no reason to be anxious or jealous or anything. These were people who loved Geralt and who Geralt loved in return, just like him. He was just severely under-rehearsed when it came to meeting significant other’s families and had predictably overreacted, but everything was going to be okay. Geralt squeezed his shoulder affectionately before continuing. “My friend.”

Wait. What?

*

Jaskier had been too stunned to respond intelligibly to anything following Geralt’s surprising introduction and had only a vague recollection of mumbling the answers to a few questions before being bundled off to the bath. By the time he was sitting in the tub his mind had caught up to current events however, and it all made some kind of sense. Geralt was obviously not out to his family. He had never pegged witchers as a profession as being particularly traditionalist when it came to sex, especially considering how Geralt had most assuredly experienced the pleasures of other men before Jaskier had got to him, but he supposed it could have reasonably been predicted. A lot of all-male, quasi-militaristic, hyper-masculine organizations were aggressively heterosexual. Look at the Witch Hunters. Or the Order of the Flaming Rose. So Jaskier would play the ‘friend’ all winter and hopefully they could still get a chance to sneak around under the other witcher’s noses and get some quality time alone. Witchers had good senses, but it was a big keep. He thought about complaining to Geralt for the lack of a heads-up regarding the need for discretion, but, given that he could hear Eskel and Lambert arguing over the crackling of the fire, there was no way the other witchers wouldn’t have been able to hear him. He would be a good secret boyfriend and not out the man he loved to his homophobic family. Freshly clean and feeling like he had a good grasp on things, he rejoined the others, blissfully unaware that his theory, and all its subsequent revisions, were not going to survive dinner.

Eskel had made stew and fresh bread and, as the conversation mainly revolved around the four witchers catching up on gossip, had even made the effort to include the bard by asking about his summer performances. Jaskier was beginning to jokingly consider the fact that he may be dating the wrong witcher and was half-flirting with Eskel as a set-up to making the quip when Eskel’s exceedingly evident awkwardness to his overtures reminded him that Geralt’s obvious discomfort at the show was probably less the flustered jealousy he had been hoping for and more fear of being asked uncomfortable questions by the others. Inwardly kicking himself, he shut up and clumsily killed the conversation.

After a few minutes of muted chewing Geralt, heroically, picked up the slack. “So where’s Aiden?”

“Fuck if I know.” Lambert answered quickly. Probably too quickly. Eskel laughed and suggestively nudged him as the younger witcher suddenly became very interested in his food.

“Who’s Aiden?” There had been a lot of unfamiliar names thrown around earlier during their informal catch-up, but Jaskier was confident that hadn’t been one of them. He was good with names and was starting to put together a frankly impressive web of contacts for the last remnants of Kaer Morhen. Geralt rarely name dropped anyone, so Jaskier had taken to assuming his own list of associates was the more impressive one. An hour of pleasant conversation here had disabused him of that notion. Between the four of them they seemed to know someone of import living in every territory the bard could name. He supposed that’s what came of living for so long though. And the fact that they were each, in their own way, as bad at keeping out of other people’s business as Jaskier himself.

“Aiden’s a witcher I fuck sometimes,” Lambert responded at the same time Eskel offered, “Aiden’s the love of Lambert’s sorry life.”

“Fuck off.” Lambert shoved Eskel back, somewhat more violently, and did not blush, but Jaskier was intimately familiar with the distinct lack of eye-contact witchers seemed to employ to indicate embarrassment. Eskel was probably not far off the mark then. Which was actually kind of adorable given Lambert’s overall prickliness. Although from what Jaskier knew of witcher schools, that strongly implied Aiden was male. So that put a rather sizeable hole in and almost sunk his the-other-witchers-were-same-sex-relationship-averse theory. It was partially buoyed however by Vesemir’s disapproving grunt. Jaskier quickly rearranged his mental map of the situation: so only Vesemir had a problem with it and Geralt didn’t want to disappoint his father figure. Yes, that still made sense; Jaskier had gotten the impression that Geralt might be Vesemir’s favourite. Though that did mean that it was kind of shitty for Geralt to have thrown Lambert to the wolves like that just to deflect attention away from Jaskier’s own ill-conceived flirting.

“Can’t trust those types,” the older witcher proclaimed sagely between mouthfuls of stew. Lambert almost audibly rolled his eyes, but was otherwise uncharacteristically uninclined to fight about it. Jaskier didn’t like that. He knew the younger witchers respected Vesemir and probably tried to follow his guidance as best they could, but it was unbearable to think of them being shamed by him for something over which they had no control: the inclinations they were born with. Throwing caution to the wind he was about to start in on a firm but tactful treatise on how love is love, regardless of gender or gender expression when Vesemir added, “Cats, I mean.”

“What?” Everytime Jaskier was starting to feel like he had a grasp on the situation, someone insisted on rearranging the playing field.

“Aiden’s a Cat,” Geralt said, obviously expecting this to clear everything up.

It did not. Maybe it was a word in Elder he didn’t know and it just sounded like the common word for the household pet? “Cat? Like furry, four legs, long tail and whiskers?” 

Eskel and Geralt laughed, Vesemir shook his head at the sorry state of what passed for a historical education at a prestigious university these days and Lambert stared aghast at what Jaskier was just now realizing was essentially an accusation of bestiality. Before Jaskier could say anything to save himself, Lambert sputtered, “Cat School, moron! We’re Wolf School. He’s Cat.” Eskel, still giggling, unhelpfully meowed which started Geralt off again and Lambert cussed the lot of them out, decided discretion was the better part of valour, grabbed the rest of the bread and his unfinished bowl of stew and retreated to somewhere he could finish his meal in peace.

Given his parting expression, Jaskier figured the likelihood of him surviving until spring had just been halved. He needed a stalling tactic to regroup and, correctly assuming Vesemir had more in common with his professors at Oxenfurt than not, fell back on every student’s tried and true strategy of asking a leading question. “Do different witcher schools not typically get along?”

Eskel and Geralt groaned, but Vesemir dutifully launched into a lecture on the different witcher schools and the history of their various interpersonal conflicts that Jaskier actually found quite interesting despite the fact he was only half paying attention. Okay, so if Vesemir’s only issue with Aiden was that he was a member of an apparently notoriously treacherous rival school and not that he was in possession (hypothetically at least, Jaskier hadn’t actually asked) of a penis, then he probably was not homophobic. It was still possible that Geralt wasn’t out to them though. Jaskier had friends from his own school days who, despite possessing tangible evidence of their parents’ open-mindedness, were still hesitant to disclose their own preferences. He knew every individual moved at their own pace and what you told who regarding your sexuality was a very personal decision. This was okay. Good, even. He could work with this. He would still keep Geralt’s secret, obviously, but it did take a bit of the pressure off to know that if he slipped up it likely wouldn’t be as catastrophic as he had been originally dreading.

As Vesemir was winding down his rant and Jaskier was mentally recording the names of a few interesting books he had referenced to look into later, Eskel interrupted, “You shouldn’t give him such a hard time about Aiden.”

Vesemir, unimpressed, raised a brow. “I wasn’t the one giggling. Or meowing.”

“Yeah, I should probably apologize for that.” Eskel grinned with the amusement of a man who had no actual intent on following through with that proposition.

“You gave Eskel less trouble when you found out he was ‘fraternizing’ with a succubus.” Geralt pointed out.

“Really?” Now that was a story Jaskier was definitely going to have to get to the bottom of.

Unfortunately Vesemir did not allow anyone to expand upon that tidbit of information. He did frown though, visibly disappointed in Eskel all over again. “At least he didn’t bring her here.”

“Alright,” Eskel glared across the table at Geralt. Clearly he considered the unasked for reminder of the succubus story equivalent to shots fired. “But you also didn’t give Geralt as much trouble when he brought Regis here and had obnoxiously loud ‘relations’ with him all winter long. And he’s a vampire!”

Wait, Geralt had had sex with a vampire? A male vampire. And everyone knew about it? Jaskier was rapidly running out of charitable excuses for Geralt’s disingenuous introduction.

Vesemir sighed and, if it wouldn’t have almost assuredly gotten him thrown out, Jaskier would have said he was pouting. “Aiden left Lambert high and dry on a werewolf hunt this spring. Heard it from the alderman in Heatherton. Took the whole purse and left town while Lambert was still fighting.”

“Shit.” Eskel shook his head, clearly disappointed to hear of the betrayal. “You try to find him?”

“Of course. But Lambert warned me off when I followed his trail to Skellige. Said he’d handle it himself.”

“They’ll work it out and make up. They always do,” Geralt insisted, although Jaskier was not sure why he thought he had any particular insight into matters of the heart given his own boyfriend’s current confusion. Had he actually just completely forgotten to mention that they were in a serious relationship? He could occasionally be dense like that: assuming people just knew things that they would have no possible way of knowing without being told. “Besides, Lambert’s probably tried to fleece him at least as many times. Any time they get too close, one of them panics and bites the other.”

Vesemir sighed again and stood, hundreds of years of world-weariness showing through. “I just wish you all would be more careful.” He swatted his two troublesome ex-students as he passed them. “And leave off ploughing the damn monsters. I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.”

“Speaking of,” Eskel added as Vesemir disappeared into the dark, “we still need to make up a room for the bard.”

“No need.” Geralt answered. Okay, so he had just forgotten and now he would explain and everything would be made clear. It had been a needlessly stressful evening for Jaskier, but soon it would all be behind him. If he’s feeling generous later he might even tell Geralt what he’d been erroneously assuming. Someone should get a laugh out of this. “We’ve shared often enough, one more night won’t matter. It’s late and there’s no rush.” 

Okay, what the actual fuck? Eskel just nodded and headed off into the interior of the keep himself, completely unaware of the mild to moderate existential crisis Jaskier was having. Why was Geralt not mentioning that they were lovers? Was he even actually his lover? Had he hallucinated the whole relationship? After so many years of pining had his mind just snapped? Equally oblivious to Jaskier’s plight, Geralt smiled at him and cupped his cheek tenderly, which at least dissipated his fear that he had imagined everything physical between them. “C’mon. Let’s turn in too.”

As his lover took his hand and led him away towards his room, Jaskier tried very hard to focus on appreciating this new more touchy Geralt and ignore the small voice inside of him that was whispering, ‘Maybe you are just friends. Maybe this doesn’t mean what you think it means. Maybe he’s the love of your life, but his life is a lot longer than yours, a lot bigger in every dimension. Maybe you’re just someone he’s having a bit of fun with. Just a friend.' 

“Why do I need my own room?” In the large, stone space his voice seemed particularly small. Geralt had not bothered to grab a candle before leaving the table since he didn’t need one, the silvery slips of moonlight through the gathering snow clouds were more than adequate for him to see. Apparently the weather was finally turning. Jaskier, on the other hand, was almost completely blind and entirely reliant on Geralt’s guidance.

His witcher squeezed his hand and it almost worked. “You’ll be glad of it in a few weeks, believe me. Everyone needs their own space sometimes and as big as this place feels now, once we’re snowed in it will seem a lot smaller.” He could almost hear the leer in Geralt’s voice as he continued, “Although if you want to spend all winter in my bed I am not going to complain.”

It was a very rational and considerate response and did absolutely nothing to assuage Jaskier’s fears. Geralt, heightened senses and all, couldn’t help but notice that he was still upset. “What’s bothering you?”

Jaskier forced a smile he knew the other man could see. “So exactly how worried should I be about Lambert killing me?”

Geralt laughed loud enough that he didn’t notice Jaskier wasn’t.

*

Thinking about it the next morning, a part of Jaskier knew that the responsible, mature adult thing to do would be to just ask Geralt what he had been thinking or simply tell the others the information Geralt had left out of his introduction, but even at his best Jaskier was rarely lauded for those particular qualities and, given that he was already feeling insecure and petulant, he naturally defaulted to bratty. Knowing Geralt (and mollified by a night of cuddling), he realized that he’d most likely been given the ‘friend’ introduction because the man he’d fallen in love with would rather boil in oil than admit he had feelings in front of other people. Especially squishy feelings. The course of action his inner four-year-old therefore suggested he follow was to simply carry on as if Geralt had, in fact, confessed his undying love for him in the presence of Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert the night before. Eventually, one of them would have to ask what was going on since they were clearly more than just friends and Geralt would be forced into an admission of their relationship. And would also look stupid for having misrepresented it in the first place. It was a win-win situation for Jaskier.

It took three weeks for him to realize that there were several fatal flaws with his plan. For one, Geralt had never really gone in for public displays of affection and so their usual level of intimacy in social situations typically did little to convince anyone watching them that they weren’t just friends in the first place. Compound that with the revelation that Geralt was atypically tactile with his fellow witchers and his observable contact with Jaskier seemed even less suggestive here than it would have been anywhere else. The bard had briefly attempted to counter this by ever so slightly performatively exaggerating his reactions when Geralt did touch him, but that had lasted all of a single morning before the four witchers were giving him looks that suggested they thought he was going soft in the head and Vesemir had made him drink something putrid and spend the rest of the day in bed with a hot water bottle.

The second major unexpected hurdle was something he really should have seen coming given that it had taken Geralt forever to figure out that Jaskier had been flirting with him in the first place. Seriously, civilizations had risen and fallen to ruin and ash while the bard had doggedly wooed him. He had always assumed that that particular failing had been Geralt’s personally, but apparently not. From his somewhat limited sample size, Jaskier was currently ready to conclude that all witchers were incredibly dense when it came to subtext. That was okay though. Jaskier would just have to up his game. Without, you know, accidentally getting himself confined to bed rest by the fussy elder witcher again. Although given that he still hadn’t really mastered the fine art of not angering Lambert, it was nice to know that at least Vesemir was invested in his continued existence. Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sure where he stood with Eskel yet either. He was always very friendly and polite with Jaskier, but the bard got the distinct impression that Eskel was generally very friendly and polite right up until the moment he was taking your head off.

The last issue Jaskier found he was having was that he, very inconveniently if he was honest, found himself caring deeply about not spoiling this small perfect space and time where these four wonderful men had willed this unrelenting prison of ancient power and forced servitude into a home. It was a precariously balanced mess of conflicting personalities, differing priorities, and dissonant opinions, to say nothing of the unfathomable weight of unspoken history present. Every room, every hallway, every conversation was a veritable minefield of triggers: old scars, physical and otherwise, throbbing and aching when they were poked. There were literal skeletons in the closets here. But now? Now there was also a severely spoiled goat in the halls. (Eskel seemed to be under the impression that she was not livestock, but instead a lap dog who also coincidentally produced milk.) They could have written the place off as dead, rode to the four corners of the Continent, never interacted with each other again and left the past well and truly buried in the past. Instead, almost every winter, they forced themselves back here, to rub each other the wrong way and argue and fight and remember and heal. They didn’t have to do that, didn’t have to try to reclaim bad memories with good, didn’t have to care for each other, but they chose to, and Jaskier found that he loved them all for it.

Of course none of this meant that he was any less dedicated to making Geralt publicly confess his feelings and admit the error in his introduction; it just meant that he would have to be careful his antics didn’t ruin anything. Jaskier was a complex creature, completely capable of loving someone and wanting them to pay horribly for slighting him at the same time. The sting of feeling that he was somehow unimportant to Geralt had faded, dulled by shared nights and whispered promises, breathless endearments and the very fact that he was here, in this place, to experience it at all. But it wasn’t gone. And it created space where Jaskier yearned for contact. As long as Geralt was keeping Jaskier at friend distance, unwilling to admit what they actually were to each other, he would always be, at least partially, the outsider looking in. Which was, admittedly, where Jaskier usually preferred himself. He made friends and casual acquaintances so easily because that distance was such a comfortable place from which to write stories: close enough to see, but far enough to choose what he saw; close enough to empathize, but far enough to stay somewhat objective; close enough to care, but far enough to be able to move on and chase the next great tale. But even more so now than before, with a better idea of what exactly was kept protected within these walls, Jaskier very much wanted to come in. And to get there he was going to have to do more than just act normally and wait.

*

It was about a week later, after the weather had forced even the non-caprine animals into the keep and they were all well and truly trapped together, that Jaskier found his first opportunity. He’d been reading in his room (and damn Geralt for being completely correct about him enjoying the ability to retreat to a private space when he wanted), but the brazier was burning low and instead of going to get another log he had taken the book and headed for the expansive warmth of the large, eternally burning kitchen/hall hearth. Lambert and Geralt were at the dining table playing cards, trading small wooden chits for victories instead of money.

“Eskel fleece you both dry already?” He slid into the chair beside Geralt and popped a piece of dry fruit into his mouth from the bowl they were sharing on the table. Lambert was one of the better and more mercurial Gwent players he’d ever met and watching his games was always entertaining and sometimes even educational.

Lambert snorted. “As if. I’ll take Geralt and Eskel’s money closer to the spring. Yours too, if you want. But it’s not like it will do me any good locked in here. We’re playing for things which have value now.”

Jaskier picked up one of Geralt’s chits and examined it. It was unevenly hewn and had no markings. “Fuel for the fire?” he guessed, although there weren’t really enough of them to get a decent blaze going.

“Chores.” Geralt frowned at his hand. He had the smaller pile of wood pieces, the smaller hand and a pretty paltry showing on the field right now. Jaskier knew from personal experience that Geralt’s deck could be very hit or miss. With the right hand he was unstoppable, but the rest of the time… 

Back when they used to play for real money, Jaskier had thrown more than one game instead of bankrupt the witcher when he was on a run of bad luck. Now they mostly played just for the fun of the game, sometimes betting cards, but mostly exchanging trinkets or twigs or, on one very memorable occasion, clothes to keep track of who was ahead. Which, Jaskier excitedly realized, even though it took place back when they were just messing around and before any feelings had been addressed, was still a perfectly reasonable story for him to tell right now that more than overtly hinted that there was a sexual component to their relationship. Lambert would have to ask if they were together and Geralt would have to answer and Jaskier would win.

Seeing victory so close at hand, he grinned and launched into his story. "Geralt and I don’t always play for money either. We’ve played for flowers, buttons, shots of vodka once, although I don’t remember how that one ended.”

“You lost.” Geralt was still going to have to do all Lambert’s chores for the foreseeable future, but at least he was smiling now. He could laugh all he wanted now, he was about to face the music.

“But I really think my favourite was the game we had when you met me at the Inn at the Crossroads after the bruxae hunt near Crow’s Perch.”

Jaskier could pinpoint the exact second Geralt realized where the story was going since his smile abruptly vanished and his eyes went wide. Lambert did not know where the story was going, but he could see that Geralt didn’t want it to continue, which was enough of a reason for him to put down his hand and start listening in earnest. “Oh? What happened?”

“He hadn’t been paid yet and I wasn’t going to let him play on credit.” Geralt tried kicking Jaskier under the table, but the bard was on a roll. “He put up his most valuable card at the time, an Isengrim, but I got that off him quickly. So we started playing for clothing.” He leered at Geralt for good measure even though the witcher couldn’t see him. He had brought both his hands up to cover his face.

“Wait. What?” Lambert narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“And let me tell you I got all of that off him too! And then-” Jaskier was about to make a joke about getting Geralt off, just to really drive home the point, when Lambert slammed his hands down on the table. 

“You had an Isengrim?”

Geralt sighed. “Briefly.”

“I told you I was looking for one! You promised if you got one it was mine!”

“I remember!”

“You swore to me!”

“Jaskier got it off of me before I ran into you!”

Lambert whirled his attention to the thoroughly confused bard. “Where’s my Isengrim?”

“What?”

“Fuck it. Your deck in your room? That card’s mine.” Lambert turned to storm off.

“No!” Jaskier did not need his room tossed by an angry witcher. “I don’t have it!”

“You don’t have it!?!”

“I sold it.”

“You sold it!?!”

“I don’t play Scoia’tael…” He’d got almost 200 crowns for it actually, but somehow he felt offering Lambert the money right now would not improve the situation. Although he was glad the younger witcher had stopped parroting him, the way he was now standing in furious silence glaring at the both of them was perhaps more disturbing. “Sorry?” It was the only thing Jaskier could think to say.

Lambert grabbed an empty chair, threw it a considerable distance down the room and then stormed off.

“That man is going to kill me before spring.”

“Hmm.” Geralt thought for a second. “You don’t actually have the card. Wouldn’t be much point. And no one’s paying him. Yet.”

Jaskier glared at the man he loved. “Shouldn’t you be promising to protect me?”

“He didn’t throw the chair at you. Take that as a good sign.” Geralt shook his head and smiled, gathering both his deck and Lambert’s abandoned deck. He also carefully collected the chit piles, tucked his smaller pile away with his deck, and piled Lambert’s larger one near his cards without ‘accidentally’ rearranging their totals because he was honourable to a fault and apparently wanted to be the only one sent out for firewood for the next two months. “I did try to stop you.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier pouted. “You did.” Well that had been a resounding failure. He had not only failed to convey the information he had intended, he had also once again, Geralt’s consolations aside, increased his chances of being murdered in his sleep. There was not one single positive outcome.

“Do you want to play?”

“For your chores? Not on your life.” In consideration of his comparative strength relative to the others, Jaskier’s assigned chores were more along the lines of dishes, cleaning and laundry. He was not expected to fell trees or head off into the forest himself and kill something for dinner.

Geralt smirked and leaned close to speak softly into Jaskier’s ear. “I was thinking we could go upstairs and play for clothes again. Since you apparently liked it so much last time.”

Okay, so there was exactly one single positive outcome.

*

Not wanting to accidentally incite any other old feuds, Jaskier decided his efforts at bringing their relationship to light should be redirected more towards doing something instead of saying something. After all, actions were supposed to speak louder than words. And if he didn’t open his mouth, he couldn’t put his foot in it. Not to mention the four witchers were all men of action and so would likely be more receptive to an idea that came from the same. To really make an impression though he had to figure out a way to go above and beyond Geralt’s increased physicality at home. It finally came to him a few weeks later. Every morning, all or a subset of the witchers practiced some combat techniques together. Jaskier hadn’t noticed it at first since he generally preferred to stay abed longer than that, but looking at it now, it was the perfect opportunity. Geralt had, on and off, insisted that Jaskier learn some self defense so that he wouldn’t quote ‘immediately die in any conflict.’ If he showed interest in practicing with them, at least when they were wrestling, he could grope Geralt and force the conversation. Though when he had actually got out of bed with Geralt that morning and told him he was planning to join them, Geralt was not as pleased as Jaskier had expected.

“We’re only half-way through the winter and you’re that bored already?”

“Who said I’m bored? I just want some exercise as well.”

Geralt was unconvinced. “You hate exercise. Every time I try to get you to do anything, even if it’s for your own good, you protest vehemently. You said you would rather actually die in a fight than have to practice.”

“Well, that may have been somewhat of an exaggeration-”

“You don’t even like walking if you don’t have to.”

Jaskier tried hard not to grit his teeth. In any other circumstances he would think it sweet that his love knew him so well. Right now, it was damned inconvenient. “You’re the one who wanted me to learn some of this stuff in the first place! Can’t you just be pleased and believe me when I say I’m doing it for you?” The look Geralt gave him very clearly indicated that he would sooner believe in flying pigs, so Jaskier changed tactics and pressed on. “Fine. I have writer’s block. It’s going on two weeks and I haven’t put anything worthwhile to paper. Or done anything but maintain my lute.” That was true actually, but it had less to do with a lack of ideas and more to do with his entire mental faculties being devoted to solving the issue of his incorrect introduction. “I need a change of pace. Something to shake up my routine.” 

The witcher still seemed skeptical, but conceded. “Fine. Wear something looser though. Easier to move in. Take something of mine if you didn’t bring anything appropriate.”

Now that was an excellent idea. Showing up wearing Geralt’s clothing was guaranteed to turn some heads. Unfortunately, as soon as he was in it, Geralt took one look at him and proclaimed it too loose.

“You just said loose was the point!”

“You’ll get caught up in it. I’ll get you something of Lambert’s. He’s closer to your size.”

“No! If he thinks I’ve just taken something-” But Geralt was already gone.

Ultimately Lambert’s clothing was also deemed too large, thankfully, and so Geralt hmm-ed, left again and returned with a rather extensively ornamentally embroidered shirt and leather trousers that ended up being a little too short but otherwise acceptable. Which is when Jaskier made the mistake of asking who they belonged to.

“Don’t know. I’d guess one of the mages who administered the Trials by the markings. Probably died in the sacking of Kaer Morhen.”

Great. This was also likely to turn some heads then, albeit in a much less desired fashion. Geralt had only ever spoken very sparsely about the Trials, but Jaskier had had a lot of time to peruse the library here in between bouts of brainstorming and self-pity. He knew they were deadly, with a survival rate around only 30%, and he knew they were responsible for the majority of the witcher’s mutations and he knew that they were immensely painful. The kids, usually around ten years old, had to be strapped down to keep them in place as they were administered. He’d seen one of the tables in the basement… “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“They’re just clothes.” Geralt turned quickly and headed downstairs, so Jaskier scrambled to keep up.

Given the delay caused by outfitting Jaskier with appropriate attire, the others were already gathered in the cleared area of the main hall near the small armory. Eskel and Lambert were going at each other with what Jaskier had to assume were blunted swords since the force they were swinging them with would have cleaved bone otherwise if they connected.

“There you are, Wolf. Finally managed to pry yourself away from-” Vesemir had looked over as he and Geralt approached, but the greeting had caught in his throat when he had seen Jaskier’s clothing. “What are you…?”

“He wanted to practice too. Needed something to wear. They’re just clothes.” Jaskier wasn’t sure if Geralt was trying harder to convince himself or Vesemir. As if he could change centuries of association through sheer force of will.

“... the fuck?” Lambert and Eskel had stopped when they’d heard Vesemir’s aborted question and were now panting, staring at him. Jaskier had never wanted to disappear more than he did in that very moment and he’d once forgotten an entire monologue on stage in front of Novigrad’s best and brightest, not to mention his then fling. He would have gladly welcomed those cruel jeers, that thrown fruit and the humiliating break-up all over again if only to be spared the looks he was currently receiving.

“They’re just clothes.” Geralt ineffectively insisted again.

Lambert dropped the sword and stormed out.

“We’ll go get him. Come on.” Eskel was expressionless as he grabbed Geralt’s shoulder roughly and manhandled him out the same way their brother had gone. Jaskier honestly wasn’t sure if he was actually going to try to coax Lambert back to practice or just wanted to yell at Geralt in private.

Jaskier sighed, resigned to his fate. “He’s going to kill me.”

“I don’t know why you are so afraid of Lambert.”

He jumped slightly; he had actually forgotten the older witcher was still there. Years of training meant he regained his composure quickly though. “I’m not afraid of Lambert.”

Vesemir gave him a look that clearly said he knew he was lying. Either his erratic heartbeat or cold sweat was giving him away to the witcher’s advanced senses.

Jaskier tried to change the topic of conversation. “Shouldn’t you also be,” he waved his arms suggestively in the direction the other witchers disappeared, “Consoling?”

He shook his head. “I think I am likely the last person Lambert wants to see right now.”

Jaskier snorted in derision. “I feel I could give you a run for that title. At least you’re not dressed like someone who tortured him.”

“I am someone who tortured him.”

Training be damned, Jaskier turned and gaped. “You… what?”

“I brought them to the table. I strapped them down. I administered the decoctions. I was there.” Vesemir was unreadable for a minute while the bard stared at him in stunned silence. There was really nothing to say to that. Mercifully, the old witcher broke the tension with a self-deprecating smirk. “And he hasn’t killed me. So I’m not sure what exactly you think you’ve done to deserve it.”

Jaskier laughed, not because the joke had been particularly good, but because the awkward energy of the moment demanded some kind of relief. “Well, I suppose we got off to a bad start, what with me accusing him of bestiallity. And then we had a bad middle where I unwittingly stole something precious from him. And then we had a bad end where I dredged up a whole slew of unwanted memories for everyone.”

“He likes you, you know.”

“Really?” Jaskier had got the feeling that Vesemir had a soft spot for him: the old man loved history and music and Jaskier was always more than willing to oblige. Other than Geralt, Vesemir was probably the person Jaskier had seen the most of this winter. He didn’t know Eskel as well, but he was always at least courteous. A not insignificant number of his interactions with Lambert had ended tensely however. “He’s got a funny way of showing it. I feel like he’s stormed out of most of my conversations with him.”

“They’re all angry, in their own way. Geralt gets quiet and stubborn. Eskel tries to pretend it doesn’t exist and gets more distantly polite. Lambert’s method is just more visible. He gets angry, he lets it out, he moves on. Probably healthiest, truth be told.” Vesemir’s eyes gleamed conspiratorially. And more than a little threateningly. “But if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted.” Jaskier believed him. A large part of him wanted to ask Vesemir how he dealt with his anger. After all, years and years ago, someone must have held him down as the poisons flooded his veins… But for all of his fearlessness in the face of monsters and men, he lacked the courage to touch that. There was a song there Jaskier wasn’t old enough to write. Not yet. And it would destroy him if he butchered it by trying too soon. Whirling away from danger, his mind latched on to something else the ancient witcher had said. “Wait. Eskel’s always been very polite to me.”

“Yes. So he has.”

“Should I be worried about Eskel?”

Vesemir stretched and tilted his head, hearing something coming that Jaskier could not. “Ah, they’re coming back. I’ll start on breakfast and leave you to it then.”

“Wait! Should I be worried about Eskel?!?”

“Worried about me what?” Vesemir disappeared into the kitchen at about the same time as Geralt and Eskel returned, apparently unsuccessful at convincing Lambert to accompany them. If they’d even tried. Eskel was smiling politely, but Geralt was looking particularly grumpy and favouring his shoulder like he might have been hit.

“Nothing! Let’s do this! I’m ready! Although I really think I should be partnered with Geralt since he already knows my skill level and has taught me a bit and we can just pick up from where we left off and I really wouldn’t want to trouble you-”

Both witchers looked mildly confused at his babbling until Eskel finally cut him off. “What have you shown him?”

“Throws, mostly. And how to get out of holds. He doesn’t know any weapons. He’s useless as a student though.”

“Hey! I have a masters in the seven liberal arts from Oxenfurt, you know!”

“Maybe you’re useless as a teacher, Wolf. Show me.” Eskel crossed his arms and waited for Geralt and Jaskier to get into position.

And it wasn’t until they were squaring up against each other that Jaskier even remembered the reason he was down here causing all of these problems in the first place. He could still salvage some good from this. He would grope Geralt, Eskel would figure it out and this would have all been worth it. Of course he hadn’t counted on the fact that he’d forgotten most of what Geralt had shown him previously, so getting a handful of sweet witcher ass was much more easily said than done. Even when he finally managed it and triumphantly turned to see Eskel’s reaction, all he got was an “Oh!” followed immediately by, “You really are bad at this,” and a gentle correction of his grip from buttock to belt. “You’ll have better luck redirecting the force of his attack from there.” He was trying so hard to actually teach him, and was being so kind even after Jaskier likely ruined his morning, if not his entire day, and Jaskier just didn’t have the heart to keep it up. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t ruin things, and he’d almost done exactly that. If there was any good to come of this, let it be that Jaskier would actually pay attention and learn some stupid throws. That would make Eskel and Geralt happy.

Despite his best efforts, he did not manage to successfully throw Geralt even once by the time Vesemir called them to breakfast. The older witcher foisted a plate onto Geralt with orders that he was to deliver it to Lambert before he was permitted to eat himself and then announced that he was taking his own plate to his room since he was in the process of committing important history to record for future generations and was likely going to be at it until dinner. It was a clumsy attempt at giving the other witchers some space and with that reminder that they would likely need it today, he left Jaskier and Eskel alone at the dining table in awkward silence.

Swallowing a mouthful of eggs and the lump in his throat, Jaskier finally braved, “Sorry.”

Eskel had gone expressionless again. “It wasn’t your mistake.”

“Geralt told me what it was upstairs. After I had it on of course.”

“You still couldn’t have known-”

“Maybe not. But I know Geralt. And he was acting cagey. And I know he can be an idiot sometimes. I should have figured it out.”

Eskel smirked. It was different from the polite smile Jaskier usually got and closer to the look he’d had when he’d been teasing Lambert that first night. “He can be an idiot. Apology accepted.” He shoveled some eggs into his own mouth before asking, “So are you going to come down to practice tomorrow? You were getting pretty close to actually throwing him this morning. A bit more work and I think you’d have it.”

Jaskier, finding that he did very much want to spend more time getting to know the quieter witcher, agreed.

That night when Jaskier told Geralt he wanted to sleep in his own room, Geralt, self-centered oaf that he was, seemed to take it with long suffering silence as further punishment for that morning’s transgressions. Jaskier didn’t have the spare effort to expend dissuading him of his melancholy though. He didn’t have a seam ripper and he’d never been particularly inclined towards needlecraft (that was most assuredly not one of the seven liberal arts taught at Oxenfurt), but he did have a small knife he used to carve lute pegs and a solid eight hours before dawn. Stitch by painstaking stitch, he pulled the pattern out of the shirt. He got maybe twenty minutes of sleep before someone was banging on his door and he was slipping back into his new training clothes and joining the others downstairs.

There was a moment of silence as they all took in his appearance, baggy eyes and blank shirt, before Eskel finally said, “That must have taken you all night.”

“Yeah, well, fuck ‘em. Right?”

Lambert clapped him on the arm in a good-natured fashion, but was apparently not so moved by the gesture so as to refrain from throwing Jaskier across the room when he fumbled a grapple attempt on the witcher five minutes later. Geralt was meticulous, Eskel gentle, Vesemir thorough, but Lambert clearly subscribed to the notion that gravity was the best way to teach. Considering he did go fetch a sack full of snow and sit with him at the table as he held it to his bruised shoulder, Jaskier figured it had been an honest accident and there were no hard feelings. Just to be sure, he ventured, "Sor-"

"Don't." Okay, maybe he was in trouble. It had been stupid and unbearably naive to think one small gesture would make up for all the anguish he'd caused yesterday and since he hadn't had a lot of sleep he felt uncomfortably close to tears which he knew wouldn't help anything, but he was having more than a bit of trouble emotionally regulating himself. He shifted uncomfortably, before Lambert, evidently sensing Jaskier's rapidly increasing distress, continued, "I mean you don't have to be. The whole fucking castle is full of shit like that. It happens."

"Oh." Jaskier wiped his eyes and tried to get himself under control. This was exactly why he hated being tired. Geralt could call him lazy all he wanted, but the value of a good night's sleep was not to be underestimated. "I knew I was going to do something dumb like this though,” he babbled. “I've been dreading it all winter. You know the first time I met Geralt, I called him the Butcher of Blaviken?"

"Ha! That's rich! He decked me for that. He deck you?"

"He did. Knocked the wind completely out of me."

Lambert chuckled and shifted beside him, stretching his legs. "Must be a relief now then."

"What?"

"Well, you've already done the thing you were dreading the most and come out the other side alright. What do you have to be afraid of now?" He gave Jaskier a sidelong glance. "So you can stop acting so weird."

Of course if Vesemir had noticed his hesitation, Lambert would have noticed it. It honestly hadn't occurred to him that Lambert might have been leaving so many of their conversations because he knew he was making Jaskier uncomfortable. And Lambert was right, if he wasn't going to kill Jaskier for this, the bard was probably not going to do anything else worse. Although he was definitely not going to stop acting so weird. He still had a mission. Given everything he'd already done, everything he'd already seen, and everything he now found himself wanting, he was going to get Geralt to admit what they were to each other and get these people to accept him as such or die trying.

"How's the shoulder?" Still sweating from the workout, Geralt came over to where Jaskier was convalescing and pulled his shirt back so he could see the damage. He winced slightly and glared at Lambert. "That's going to leave a nasty bruise."

Lambert shrugged, unrepentant, and Jaskier got his next bad idea.

*

Geralt was usually a very gentle lover; he naturally tended much more towards soft kisses and tender fingertip caresses over teeth and nails. Jaskier had briefly, when they first started having sex, assumed that that came from Geralt repressing his true nature out of fear of injuring his weaker human lover: the man’s underdeveloped sense of self worth casting him as the monster whose dark urges could never be shown to, nevermind accepted by, decent people. Jaskier, who was generally up for trying anything once, had been excited to slowly pull back his layers and inhibitions and unleash the wild animal caged within. That titillating fancy had not lasted long though before the reality of Geralt’s true inner desires had come to light under Jaskier’s dedicated ministrations: if there was an animal caged in Geralt’s soul it was a puppy dog. The man was just a huge sap, predominantly horny for nothing more than taking his time and deep kisses, exploring every inch of exposed skin and sharing pleasure. Which was not to say he couldn’t be rough or even enjoy being rough sometimes, it just meant that Jaskier’s ‘dark witcher’ fantasies had a safe word, were planned out ahead of time, and involved a lot of checking in and aftercare. Which meant that his next scheme was unfortunately delayed for a few weeks until Geralt was in the mood to cooperate. Apparently seeing Jaskier’s purple and green shoulder put the witcher right out of the headspace for aggressive sex, no matter how much the bard pleaded. But examining his currently mottled neck and torso in the mirror, Jaskier was confident that no one would be able to take one look at him and not immediately conclude he had been fucked exactly as hard as he had begged for last night. Which was the entire idea.

He’d skipped combat practice that morning, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Geralt and claiming he’d had enough exercise the night before, and was now trying to judge how long it had been since then so that he could time his appearance downstairs with breakfast. If he came down while the witchers were still wrestling with each other they might a) not notice and b) not have the inclination to talk about it since nothing short of deep-seated childhood trauma seemed to disturb their focus to honing their craft. Sitting down over a meal however, that would be perfect. They always got the most gossipy while they were eating. Judging that it had been long enough, Jaskier threw a shirt on, unfortunately covering most of the marks, and went downstairs.

He’d evidently overstayed while admiring Geralt’s handiwork in the mirror however, since only Vesemir was at the table. Whatever. He’d have liked showing off for a crowd, but he only needed one of them to accost Geralt. “Good morning.” He slid into an empty chair and stretched, showing off his nibbled neck. “Anything left?”

“Good morning. There’s some eggs and toast, but the pups ate all the bacon.” Vesemir was contentedly nursing a mug of something warm and apparently had not noticed the hickies. “We missed you this morning, but Geralt said you weren’t up to it. Are you feeling better?” He seemed to take in the way Jaskier was awkwardly fidgeting, trying to make his neck more obvious. “Is your shoulder still bothering you?”

Oh for fuck's sake, how dense could a person actually be? He was not going to lose now though. If the shirt was covering too much, he would get rid of the shirt, frigid morning air be damned. “Actually, I’m finding it a little warm today.” He stood, peeled off the shirt and posed. He couldn’t help himself; he had always been a bit of a drama queen and this was his moment, he could feel it.

“Oh!” Vesemir’s eyes went wide and he almost fumbled the mug.

Finally! This was undeniable evidence! Jaskier grinned, altogether pleased with himself. He touched a rather large mark on his collarbone, fondly remembering how he’d got it, and anticipated Vesemir’s questions. He had decided he was going to play it smooth. He could already see it now: Oh, yes, Geralt and I have been an item for a while now. No, I don’t know why he didn’t tell you. Maybe we should go ask him?

None of his scenarios began with Vesemir quickly coming around the table while removing his own fur mantle and shirt however. “I know what this is. I know what you need.”

“What?” Oh gods, had Vesemir thought he was trying to seduce him? Suddenly the shirtless posing seemed like a very bad idea in hindsight. “No! No, no, no, no, no. I’m quite alright-” Jaskier tried slowly backing away but was quickly enveloped in the older witcher’s arms and not insignificant body heat.

“Geralt!” Vesemir’s bellow was commanding and Jaskier could feel it reverberating through his chest.

“No!” That was the last thing he needed! What if Geralt got jealous and attacked Vesemir? He wasn’t supposed to be ruining things! He had to get out of this. “This has all been a horrible misunderstanding! I was actually just quite warm! I didn’t mean to imply-” Jaskier was squirming for all he was worth, but Vesemir’s arms were like a vice.

“What…?” Eskel skidded to a stop, confused by the scene in front of him. Lambert and Geralt were not far behind. Of course they’re all here now.

“Geralt!” Jaskier began quickly, trying to do as much damage control as possible. “This isn’t what it looks like!”

“We have to act fast, your friend’s in dire condition.” Vesemir lifted Jaskier easily, bridal style, before he could protest any further. “Here, put the fur on him. I’ll take him to his room.”

Geralt moved quickly to comply and Jaskier found himself wrapped tight against Vesemir’s burly chest. “What is wrong with him?”

“Nothing!” Jaskier’s voice was muffled by fur.

“Hypothermia. It’s paradoxical undressing. People in the last stages of it feel warm, not cold, and so take their clothes off and freeze all the faster. Lambert, get more braziers. Eskel, warm some broth for him. Not hot, just warm. We need to bring him back up to temperature slowly.” Eskel and Lambert nodded and hurried to comply as Vesemir carried him up the stairs, Geralt following behind.

“Hypothermia? How did he get-”

“The damn keep is drafty as hell. I knew it was getting bad, but we can all take it. It’s been years since we’ve had a human winter here. Perhaps the brazier in his room went out in the night. How did you not notice when he said he wasn't up to practice this morning?”

“But…” Geralt was well aware that Jaskier had not been in his own bed last night and that the brazier had been burning when he’d left for practice that morning. He looked confused for a moment before a look of sheer horror settled on his face. He was obviously remembering Jaskier, naked and uncovered, stretched out languidly on his bed. If this stunt not only failed but ruined Jaskier’s chances at sex for the rest of the winter he was going to scream. “Shit. Take him to my room, I know the fire’s still burning. Is he going to be okay?”

Vesemir shook his head slowly. “Hard to say. Hypothermia is dangerous. And we caught it so late…”

“I’m okay! Really, I am! I think everyone has maybe slightly over-reacted…” Unless it was actually possible to die of acute embarrassment, Jaskier knew he was going to be fine.

Unfortunately, Vesemir and Geralt ignored his insistences as the delirious ravings of the terminally ill. A moment later he was deposited back in the bed he woke up in. Vesemir tucked the covers and wolf skin mantle around him before standing and clapping a big hand comfortingly on Geralt’s shoulder. “We will take care of him. I’ll go help Lambert with the brazier. You stay with him. Body heat helps.”

Geralt nodded and clamoured into the bed with him, shucking his own shirt and wrapping himself protectively around the bard. He supposed if one of his schemes was going to get him sent to bed again, at least this time it was Geralt’s bed. The mood was somewhat ruined though by the fact the other witchers were in and out of the room all day, fussing like old maids. First there was Eskel with the broth, who insisted on staying to make sure Jaskier ate, then there was Lambert with the brazier and Vesemir with a long lecture on how Geralt needed to take better care of his friends. Jaskier continued to attempt to insist he was fine, but the more he said he was fine the more the witchers seemed to think he was not fine so he eventually just gave up and let them do as they wanted. Which appeared to be watch him sleep and bicker about who knew more about human physiology.

He was beginning to think his first tutor had been correct in the scathing letter he’d left when he’d fled the Lettenhove estate after one too many boyish pranks: Jaskier was an agent of chaos, sowing discord and ruin whatever he tried, doomed to cause more trouble than he was worth. Maybe he should have gone to a mage school instead of Oxenfurt. Then at least he would have felt like he had some hope of getting a grip on this shambles he’d made.

When the other witchers did finally leave, Geralt kissed his temple, concern radiating off him stronger than any body heat. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just,” Geralt shifted, likely due to emotional discomfort more than physical. “You have been acting a little odd since, well, we got here.”

Jaskier just sighed, defeated. “You win.”

“Hmm.” Geralt did not bother asking what he had won. He probably thought Jaskier was still delirious. He was not delirious, but he was well and thoroughly done with this nonsense. First thing tomorrow he was going to march downstairs and do what he should have done months ago.

*

Jaskier waited until midmorning, when Geralt was out cutting firewood, to make his declaration. This was no longer about making Geralt uncomfortable or forcing him to admit anything he wasn’t ready to yet; he just wanted to be honest with the people who he’d come to care for quite deeply and who had tried so hard yesterday to save him from himself. Still wearing Vesemir’s wolf mantle (the thing was actually damned warm and he was not planning on giving it back unless he was explicitly asked for it), he went downstairs and strode confidently over to where the other three witchers were sitting, Eskel and Lambert playing cards and Vesemir reading by the fire in a perfect recreation of the first night when he should have just cleared this damn mess up to begin with. He took that as a good sign. He slammed both hands down on the table to get everyone’s attention and proclaimed, "Geralt and I are sleeping together. We have been for a while now. It’s kind of serious. Actually, it’s very serious. I’m in love with him."

There were shocked looks all around and some sheepish lack of eye contact, which Jaskier read as them feeling stupid for not figuring it out, before Vesemir finally broke the silence. "Yes, we know.”

“What?” He felt himself losing some momentum.

Vesemir looked uncomfortable. “We can smell you."

“And we can see how you interact with each other.” Eskel smirked before adding somewhat lewdly, “And we can definitely hear you. Sweet gods, you’ve got a set of lungs.”

"And we aren’t morons." Lambert rolled his eyes. “Wait, if you thought we didn’t know you two were fucking, why did you think Vesemir was pounding on the floor two nights ago?”

“Like he could hear anything over the noises he was making. Screw witcher senses, I’m pretty sure they could hear you in White Orchard.” Jaskier flushed bright red as Eskel continued, “Did you think we’d have a problem with it?”

“Oh gods,” Lambert grinned, “Was this you trying to be subtle? Is that why you’ve been acting so strange?”

“No!”

“But you have been acting strange.” Vesemir did not inflect it as a question.

“Well-”

“Not all the time,” Eskel nodded, agreeing with Vesemir. “But sometimes you’d look like you were scheming something.”

“That was me trying to be obvious!” This conversation was rapidly spiralling out of Jaskier’s control and it was not being helped by the sudden resurgence of the doubt he thought he’d mostly quashed by now.

“Obvious? Why?”

“So one of you would ask Geralt what was going on!” If they knew the whole time, Geralt, possessed of the same senses, would have known they would know.

“Why would you want that?”

“Because then he would have to tell you what was going on! Because then-” Why would Geralt be embarrassed to tell them he was in a relationship if they already knew? Unless… “Because then I would know if I’m actually more to him too or if I’m just-” the last of Jaskier’s confidence finally ran out and he collapsed into an empty chair with a sigh. “Just a friend.”

“Just a friend?” Eskel was not feigning shock at Jaskier’s admission.

“Yeah,” Jaskier fidgeted with his hands nervously. “That’s what he said I was to him, back when he introduced me to you.”

Vesemir sighed. "It may seem like the foolish suggestion of an old man, but have you tried, perhaps, telling him you would prefer to be introduced as his lover?"

Lambert quickly cut him off. "Don't listen to him. He's had exactly two emotionally honest conversations in his entire life and they were both before the Conjunction of the Spheres. Walk on, old man, we’ll set him straight."

"But there weren't any witchers before the Conjunction of the Spheres." Jaskier remembered a long conversation with Vesemir about which monsters were native to this dimension and which were invasive species.

"At least one person I’ve taught remembers his history." Vesemir collected his book, clapped the bard encouragingly on the shoulder, and left Lambert and Eskel to do whatever it was they were going to do to Jaskier.

“Just a friend.” Eskel was still shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve heard that man introduce as his friend?”

Come to think of it, Geralt could be pretty stingy with that word. Jaskier took a conservative guess. “Eight?”

Eskel was apparently not looking for an actual number though. “I’ve known him for the better part of a century, we literally grew up together, do you know how long it was before he called me a friend?”

“I’ve known him almost as long and I haven’t even got a friend yet!” Lambert added.

“Just, ‘This is Eskel.’ Or ‘He was at school with me.’ Or ‘He’s also a Wolf.’”

“To be fair, I’m more of a dick to him than Eskel is.”

"Or sometimes, I don’t even get anything! No introduction at all! Just a grunt and a point.”

“I did get a brother once when we were really drunk. But never in front of anyone else.”

"So yeah, I’m not terribly sympathetic that you’re unsatisfied with friend.”

“But-” Jaskier felt his point was being lost.

“Are you not his friend?” Lambert crossed his arms and raised a brow challengingly and for the first time in weeks Jaskier remembered why he’d been somewhat intimidated by the man before. He had a feeling that answering this question incorrectly would be bad for his health. “Is it not true?”

“Of course it’s true!” He fumbled quickly, “It’s just, well, we also, you know-”

“Fuck?”

Eskel scoffed and raised a brow questioningly, “Do you have any idea how many people he’s had sex with?”

“Please, please do not give me an actual number. My heart won’t take it.” Jaskier put his head in his hands and tried to think. Somehow this had gotten very muddled up. “Look, friend is good. I like friend. I have lots of friends. But friends only get so close. Lovers are more intimate-”

Now it was Lambert's turn to scoff. “Physically maybe. But you can pay someone to warm your bed. You can’t pay someone to care. To stay. Day after day. Year after year.”

“Friends can come and go,” Jaskier countered. 

Eskel frowned at him. “Everyone comes and goes. Nothing lasts forever. Especially not for us. But if you think Geralt isn’t taking your relationship seriously because he’d rather we knew you as someone he cared for than as someone he slept with than you don’t know him half as well as you think you do. Or half as well as he deserves.”

Lambert grinned wickedly. “Although if lover is your preferred term…”

*

“Good night, Geralt’s lover Jaskier!” Lambert waved obnoxiously as the two of them headed off to bed.

To say that Geralt was frustrated would be an understatement. Every hair on his body was on edge. He'd been growing increasingly flustered since he’d come back inside from cutting wood around midafternoon and Lambert had started in on the nickname and was rapidly reaching the end of his rope. As per Jaskier’s earlier conversation with the others, he figured Geralt knew Lambert was aware of their activities and so was not likely upset about being called out for that reason. He was probably just aggravated at the thought that Lambert was having a laugh at his expense, particularly since he didn’t know exactly what it was that Lambert found so funny. Jaskier had patted his arm soothingly and said, “I’ll explain it later,” and personally done his best to ignore it. To be perfectly honest, he’d had worse epithets and it didn’t actually bother him that much. As soon as the door was closed behind them though, Geralt whirled to face him and demanded, “Explain.”

“I told Vesemir, Lambert and Eskel I loved you this morning. Lambert, Eskel and I then had a bit of a philosophical argument about the definition of words-”

“You… what?” Geralt seemed flabbergasted.

“I didn’t know they knew we were sleeping together, since you never said it out loud and just assumed they were aware. So I told them I loved you and now Lambert is just being a bit of a prick-”

“You love me?”

And Jaskier realised that as much as he had been using the word in relation to Geralt in his thoughts, he had maybe not gotten around to actually saying it yet. “Umm… yes. I love you. Have for a while now I just-”

“Never said it out loud and assumed I was aware?” Geralt pulled Jaskier close to him.

“Something like that.” There was a distinct possibility Jaskier would never live this down.

“Hmm.” Geralt kissed him for a while, slowly and deeply. The man did not speak much, but Eskel was right, you’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to recognize him returning Jaskier’s sentiment whole-heartedly. Jaskier had just been so caught up in the one word he had said that he couldn’t hear the rest of Geralt shouting. Finally and definitively, he put the sword to the last of his niggling doubt. “So what word were you arguing about?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jaskier put a hand on Geralt’s cheek and smiled as the witcher leaned affectionately into the contact. “I was wrong.”

It wasn’t until hours later, Jaskier tucked comfortably against Geralt’s side with one of the witcher’s arms around him and tracing soothing patterns on his back, that Geralt thought to ask, “Did you really think they didn’t know we were sleeping together?”

Jaskier sighed and knocked his forehead into Geralt’s chest. “You just introduced me as your friend. How was I supposed to know they were all creepy enhanced-sense-having voyeurs?”

Geralt laughed. “But you’re so loud! People must have heard you all the way down the mountain.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve been told.” Jaskier pouted.

“You’re an idiot.” The insult lacked weight, given the affectionate tone in Geralt’s voice. Although considering the scenes he'd caused it was probably an accurate assessment.

“You’re the one in love with an idiot,” Jaskier countered confidently.

“Hmm.” Geralt kissed the top of his head. “True.”

Lambert kept the nickname up for a solid two weeks before he started to lose interest. Seeing that it wasn’t getting a rise out of Jaskier, he was about to give up on it when Geralt made the incredibly stupid mistake of expressing his relief that the joke was over. Of course that just caused Lambert to redouble his efforts and the bard went by ‘Geralt’s lover Jaskier’ for the rest of the winter. After realizing that it bothered Geralt more than Jaskier, Eskel was more than happy to join in and even Vesemir had slipped it into the occasional conversation. Annoyed, Geralt had asked Jaskier to step in and tell them to knock it off, but unfortunately for him Jaskier was actually starting to enjoy the moniker. A joke only between the witchers and him - it felt like being inside.

*

They were three weeks out of Kaer Morhen in the spring when they ran into a red-haired sorceress outside Vizima with whom Geralt seemed intimately acquainted. She threw her arms around the witcher and kissed his cheek. “Geralt!”

“Triss!” Jaskier could tell that he was obviously pleased to see her, but he appeared to be correct in his guess that the witcher was just generally more reserved out on the Path. He barely put an arm around her before quickly breaking off the hug and taking a step back, out of physical contact range. “What are you doing here?”

“Meeting a friend. But I have time for a drink!” She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and smiled warmly at both Geralt and Jaskier. “That is if you and your companion are free.”

Well that was a fairly diplomatic way of asking for an introduction. It was unsurprising though, since sorceresses were trained for politics. Jaskier purposefully didn’t answer and instead waited to see what Geralt would do with the question.

“This is Jaskier. He’s an idiot, but I’m in love with him.”

You know what? He’ll take it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sort of new to this, so a bit unsure as to whether I should have split this up into chapters or not. If anyone feels like weighing in, let me know if it was too long to read as one big chunk.
> 
> Also, Lambert's philosophy regarding not being afraid anymore after you've already done the worst thing you can imagine is shamelessly stolen from when Kageyama berates Hinata for hitting him in the back of the head with a serve in Haikyuu!!
> 
> I'm on tumblr ([octinary.tumblr.com](https://octinary.tumblr.com/)) if you want to talk/ask me anything.


End file.
